would make sure of that.

For many of the men assembled here, today would be their last full day alive.

"I understand," he managed. "I'll be ready."

"Good," Lathe said. "Now get over to that corner and tell Comsquare Bhat I said to start checking you out on the special equipment you'll be using."

"All right," Judas said. "What about you?"

"I need to go talk to Shaw," Lathe said. "We still have a few details to work out." He looked across the staging area at the other blackcollars, a strangely wistful look on his face. "Because win, lose, or die, tomorrow is the night."

Earlier that day, as he had every day of his captivity, Caine had run himself through an exercise regimen consisting of some of the martial arts katas he'd been taught back on Earth during his Resistance combat training. The workout, while certainly nothing spectacular, had nevertheless run up a good sweat, necessitating a shower in his transparent stall.

But unlike the previous days, when he'd finished drying off and flipped his wet towel over the edge of the stall, this time he made sure it landed in such a way as to neatly block the spy camera hidden there.

And with that, the stage was set. It would have been nice to disable the bedpost camera as well, but Security had sneaked in last night to clear and regimmick that one as he'd hoped they would, and he couldn't keep changing the paper over the lens without them eventually getting wise to the game.

Besides, with the shower camera halfway across the room from his bed, there was a chance they'd be slightly less alert when they came in tonight to clear it.

Still, whether they were or not, the die had been tossed and was now spinning its way across the floor.

He had the patterns of his prison figured out, he had the method of his escape planned, and he had the tools with which to carry it out.

All he needed now was for someone to open his cell door for him.

He settled onto bed early that night, taking his manuscript book with him as if deciding to feign his reading in bed instead of feigning it in his comfort chair. The chair itself he had already subtly relocated to the spot where he needed it to be, sitting midway between him and the blocked shower camera. That alone should help allay any suspicions; a potential escapee would certainly not be careless enough to deliberately leave a large obstacle between himself and the first enemy he would have to neutralize.

By the time they shut off his lights, he was ready. Stretched out on his foam pellet-stuffed mattress beneath his thin blanket, clothed in his orange jumpsuit and boot-slippers, he slipped his hand down and began stealthily peeling sheets of paper off the top of the manuscript stacked on the floor by his head.

Win, lose, or die, tonight was the night.

The prisoner convoy, Poirot had said, would be leaving at seven in the evening. As it turned out, the six vans actually slipped through Athena's main gate a half hour earlier.

But that was all right. Skyler had rather expected them to try something like that anyway.

Convoy leaving, Flynn's specially boosted message came over his tingler from the empty high-rise apartment just north of Athena where he and Anne were watching the gate. Six vans; one car front, one car rear.

Acknowledged, Skyler signaled back. A surprisingly weak escort, even considering that the vans themselves were carrying their own collection of Security men. Clearly, General Poirot was trying to make it look like he'd manipulated the situation for the ambushers' benefit, just as he'd claimed he would. Route?

Primary.

The most straightforward route, in other words, for a convoy heading to Colorado Springs, and thus the route where any potential attackers would concentrate their efforts. Again, to all appearances, Poirot was doing his best to open the convoy to attack.

Unfortunately for him, the men Reger had scattered along the likely routes had already reported the extra Security vehicles that had been drifting quietly into position along that same primary route for most of the day. As Anne had predicted, and O'Hara's gut had already concluded, Poirot had indeed betrayed them.

Still, even in their attempt to be clever, the enemy was in fact being very predictable. Skyler could only hope his own plan wouldn't be equally transparent. Air activity?

Chatter indicates six spotters, all out of visual range.

Acknowledged, Skyler replied again, silently offering thanks to whichever it was of Anne's Whiplashed contacts who had been willing to stretch out her own neck far enough to provide them with the spotters'

rolling-freq radio setup.

Leaning over the edge of his rooftop, he peered down the street. No sign of the convoy yet, but it wouldn't be much longer. Backing away from the edge, he made one last check of the small zip-line mortar he'd fastened securely to the rooftop five meters back. They hadn't had any place secure enough to do a complete test of the mortars, but the devices had come from Kanai's stock and Skyler trusted the other to have kept them in good condition. Tucking the remote for the mortar's take-up reels into his sleeve where it would be handy, he returned to the edge of the roof and slid his fingers under his sleeve to his tingler. Flynn: launch diversion one.

Acknowledged. Diversion one launching.

"They've cleared the perimeter," Ramirez announced to no one in particular. "And the gate is closed.

Doesn't look like there were any attempts at infiltration."

"Agreed," Bailey said, his eyes on the Denver map and the green lights that indicated the convoy vans, listening with half an ear to the quiet murmur of status reports drifting around the situation room.

"Anything from the spotters?"

Ramirez looked over at the status display. "Just normal city traffic," he said.

"Yae rill 'ind nothing else," Daasaa rumbled, striding restlessly back and forth. Bailey had offered him and Halaak seats, but both Ryqril had chosen instead to stand. At the moment, the battle architect's pacing had put him directly behind Poirot, and Bailey could see the general flinching away a little from the alien's proximity. "The 'lackcollar 'ositions rill 'e rell canou'laged," Daasaa added.

"Agreed, Your Eminence," Bailey said. "Still, there's a chance that either the infrared or the microradar will—"

"Colonel?" Ramirez cut in, his forehead creasing in a frown as he leaned closer to one of the displays.

"How many spotters did you order up?"

"There are supposed to be six," Poirot put in before Bailey could answer. "Are we missing someone?"

"No, sir, just the opposite," Ramirez said, pointing to the display. "Two more have just been scrambled from Boulder."

"What?" Bailey demanded, stepping to Ramirez's side. "On whose orders?"

"Major?" Ramirez prompted, nudging the spotter officer.

"She identified herself as Athena Special Ops," the controller said, running his fingers across his keyboard. "Here's the playback."

He touched a final key. "Boulder spotter control, this is Athena Special Ops Command," an authoritative female voice said crisply from the speaker. "You're to scramble two spotters immediately to assist in convoy escort duty."

"Recognize the voice?" Ramirez murmured.

"No," Bailey murmured back. "You?"

Ramirez shook his head. "Authorization code?" the Boulder dispatcher asked, just as crisply.

"Alpha-nine-seven-beta-three-three," the woman replied. "This operation is under the direct jurisdiction of General Poirot."

"I gave no such order," Poirot insisted, glancing furtively at the Ryq towering over him.

"Code acknowledged and accepted," Boulder control said. "Spotters on their way."